


The Rules I Break Got Me This Place

by mardia



Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: Baseball, Multi, No-Hitter, OT3, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-08-23 21:54:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8344246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mardia/pseuds/mardia
Summary: In which Ginny's trying to pitch a no-hitter, Mike's the only one allowed to sit next to her in the dugout, and Amelia's doing her best not to have a heart attack. (Amelia POV.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when you idly say on twitter, "What would happen if Ginny threw a no-hitter?" You end up with 7k of OT3 fic. Title comes from the song "Creator" by Santigold. Thanks to shoemaster for checking over the baseball parts, and to everyone who enabled this on twitter.

It’s not until the fifth inning that Amelia starts to realize what’s going on. For once, it’s not her admitted lack of baseball knowledge that keeps her in the dark, because nobody in the GM’s box--not the wives and girlfriends of the players, not Evelyn, not even Oscar, nobody really starts to freak out until the fifth inning. 

Amelia’s admittedly the last to figure out why, though. She’s watching the game, grinning as Ginny gets her second strikeout of the inning, and then Eliot, standing next to her, says in a stunned sort of way, “Holy shit, is Ginny really--”

Amelia turns to look at him, ears pricking, but Evelyn snaps out fast as anything, “Boy, you better shut the hell up.”

Amelia’s eyebrows fly up her forehead and she demands, “Wait, what’s going on with Ginny? She’s pitching lights out today.”

It has been a long time since anyone has dared to glare at Amelia, but Evelyn’s doing it right now. “Will you two just hush before you ruin it?”

Looking torn between answering his boss and setting Evelyn off even more, Eliot hesitates before finally leaning over to whisper, “It’s a jinx if we talk about it out loud.”

“Talk about _what_ ,” Amelia demands, exasperated, and now multiple people around them are giving her dark looks. What the hell?

“Oh my God,” Evelyn snorts, tapping away on her iPhone before literally slapping it into Amelia’s hand. “Here, read it.”

Amelia glares right back at her, but looks at the screen, and it’s open to a Wikipedia article on--

It’s a rare moment when Amelia’s jaw drops in public. This is one of those times. Staring wide-eyed at Eliot and Evelyn, Amelia holds up the phone and hisses, “She’s actually pitching a _no-hit--_ ”

“Shh!” Evelyn and Eliot say in unison, Eliot pleadingly, and Evelyn emphatically. 

The next time Amelia finds a generational sports talent to represent, she’s going for basketball. Or maybe swimming. Anything that’s not so goddamn superstitious as baseball. “Fine,” Amelia shoots back, tapping the screen with her fingernail for emphasis. “This is what Ginny’s doing right now? This thing right here?”

“Yes,” Evelyn says. “Now if we could all just shut the hell up--”

The crowd at Petco Park roars, and Amelia turns back to the field just in time to see that Ginny’s got out of the inning without giving up a hit, the Padres are up 3-0 on the Cincinnati Reds, and Amelia’s client is just four innings away from being the first woman to pitch a no-hitter in the major leagues. 

“Holy shit,” Amelia murmurs to herself, slowly starting to grin. “Holy _fucking_ shit.”

“Exactly,” Evelyn says, and when Amelia turns to look at her, Evelyn’s wearing a grin that’s the mirror image of the one Amelia’s got on her face now. “Now sit back and try not to jinx it, we’re still only in the fifth inning.”

*

The entire time the Padres are up at bat, Amelia barely even looks in the direction of the field. Instead, she spends her time on her phone, either reviewing the rules as to what exactly makes a no-hitter, checking Twitter to see how fast Ginny’s name is rising up the list of trending topics, and fielding calls from the marketing teams at Gatorade, Nike, and Covergirl, in that order. 

But the second they go to the top of the sixth, Amelia shoves her phone at Eliot. “You’re screening my calls,” she tells him over her shoulder, staring down at the field, watching the tiny figure on the pitcher’s mound. 

“Um, okay?” Eliot says after her, but Amelia’s barely listening. 

The first pitch Ginny throws is outside the strike zone, and Amelia bites back a curse. She sees Ginny roll her shoulders, as if to shake it off, and the crowd gives her a round of encouraging applause, one that she answers with three quick strikes. By the time Gonzalez is walking off, the crowd is screaming, and Amelia’s practically vibrating from excitement.

And it’s only the first out. Oh God. 

“I’m not going to live through this, am I?” Amelia asks Evelyn, and Evelyn gives her a crooked smile. 

“It’s only the sixth inning, you’ve gotta pace yourself. Be patient.”

“I don’t do patience,” Amelia retorts, but the next Reds batter is now walking up to home plate, and Amelia’s clenching her hands into fists before she even realizes she’s doing it. 

As if to personally test the blood pressure of Amelia and every other person in the ballpark today, the next at-bat is a mess of foul balls, Ginny throwing balls outside of the strike zone, until Amelia’s hissing out loud, “Walk him, just _walk_ the stupid--”

And then Amelia’s heart leaps into her chest as the batter makes contact and the ball flies up into the air, but it’s a fly ball, Jones safely plucking it out of midair, and Amelia’s cheering him on along with the rest of Petco Park.

She’s already bracing herself for the the next Reds batter to step up, but instead it’s Al Luongo heading out there, and now Mike’s coming up to the pitcher’s mound, and what the hell is even happening. 

“Wait, wait, what’s this, she demands, poking Evelyn in the arm. “She’s doing great, why are they going out there?”

Evelyn doesn’t look thrilled about these developments either, but she says, “It’s the sixth inning, if this were a--” Evelyn drops her voice even lower, like she really thinks the baseball gods are listening, “--if this were a _normal_ game, now is about the time they’d think about pulling her out, bringing in a relief pitcher.”

“Are you _shitting me_?” Amelia demands, loudly enough to be heard over the general buzz in the box. She ignores the stares, whirling around to demand of Oscar, who’s staring out at the field like he’s literally trying to beam thoughts into Luongo’s head, “Oscar, what the fuck?”

“Amelia, it’s fine,” Oscar says, although Amelia notices how he still isn’t looking at her. “We’ve still got to think long-term, and with her pitch count--” Amelia glares at the side of his head, and he finally looks at her, shaking his head. “Relax,” he says, lowering his voice. “Al would cut off his own leg before pulling her out. If she’s feeling good, she stays.”

Oscar’s proven right, as eventually Al and Mike walk back to the dugout and behind home plate, respectively, and Ginny’s still on the mound, shaking her arm loose, getting ready to pitch. 

“Come on, come on,” Evelyn says, bouncing a little in her seat. “Girl, come on and just--yes!” Ginny’s first pitch is a gorgeous strike, and Amelia lets out the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. 

“Come on,” she murmurs, and Evelyn flashes her a smile, overhearing. 

“Don’t worry,” she says confidently. “Ginny’s got this, you’ll see.”

*

Ginny makes it out of the sixth inning, the no-hitter still in play, and the second she’s off the mound Amelia sinks into her seat, her legs feeling like jelly. “Ugh,” she groans. 

“Ginny’s the number one trending topic on Twitter in the US,” Eliot says, bouncing up to her gleefully. “Social media is lighting up right now.”

“Yeah, but we’re still only in the sixth inning,” Amelia groans. “Why did nobody warn me going in that baseball is awful?”

“I’m getting you liquor,” Evelyn declares, and Amelia groans thankfully, “ _Please._ ”

As she walks off, Eliot stands a little closer to Amelia and says, “Um, I have to say--I didn’t think you’d be this worked up about this. You’re usually a lot more…”

“Chill?” Amelia finishes, raising an eyebrow.

Eliot shrugs. “I was going to say collected, but yeah.” He glances at the Fox broadcast, which has a closeup of Ginny on the bench, staring fixedly ahead as she chews on a wad of gum. “You know...even if it doesn’t work out, this is still a great game for her, right? She’s done great today.”

Amelia stares at him as if he’s lost his mind. “Great isn’t the same as record-breaking,” she hisses in an undertone. “Great isn’t the first female pitcher in the history of the sport to throw--” Amelia catches herself and finishes, “--to do _this_. And for the Padres? I looked it up Eliot, no Padres pitcher, male or female, has done it in the entire history of the franchise. I’m not interested in a consolation prize, I want the _actual_ prize, I want Ginny to--”

Amelia bites back the rest of that sentence, but it still rings in her head as loudly as if she’d spoken it out loud: _I want Ginny to have this._ Because it’s true. Amelia wants this for Ginny, not in the way an agent roots for their client’s success, but because she wants Ginny to have this accomplishment, something no one can ever dismiss or ignore, this victory that no one can wipe away, whatever comes next. 

It’s not the first time that Amelia’s forcibly reminded of how overly invested she is in Ginny Baker, how tangled her emotions are when it comes to her only client, but it’s not something she particularly feels like broadcasting to anyone, especially her own goddamn assistant.

Although with the way this game is going, Amelia’s chances of keeping her emotions under lock are diminishing like the ice caps. 

Evelyn thankfully reappears with a server who’s got an ice-cold IPA on their tray, and Amelia doesn’t even bother looking at the label before she’s cracking the tab open and downing half of it. 

“Want me to get you another?” the server asks, ignoring Eliot’s furtive shaking of his head. 

“No,” Amelia says calmly, but she’s holding the can in a tight grip. “I’m good with this.”

*

Despite the big show Amelia makes of being disinterested in sports, she’s been to a lot of stadiums in her lifetime. She’s seen the Rangers go to triple overtime in the playoffs at Madison Square Garden, she’s watched LeBron James win an NBA title, she’s seen Real Madrid light up the competition at the Bernabeu. She’s been to all those games and every time, where she was mattered to her more than what was happening in front of her. It was about having that status, the ability to make high-wheeling deals and impress her clients, both current and the future ones--that’s what got Amelia in her seat every time.

And yet right now, on this day, Amelia’s entire attention, all of her focus, is on that small figure on the mound today. The crowd at Petco is electric at this point, screaming for every ground-out, every pop-up like it’s a home run, but Amelia can’t seem to bring herself to join in, even with Evelyn and Eliot and even Oscar cheering wildly, all Amelia can do is keep her arms wrapped around her stomach, rocking back and forth on her heels, silently willing Ginny on with every pitch. 

And when Ginny intentionally walks a batter, the nervousness around Petco is so palpable that Amelia can almost see it in the air. Mike calls for a timeout, jogging up to the mound, covering his mouth with his mitt as he checks in on Ginny, the two of them standing closely together while the entire crowd watches them, hoping and praying. 

She glances over at the big TV screen, where Mike is flashing Ginny an encouraging grin before he walks back to the plate. Ginny looks as calm as Amelia’s ever seen her, chin up, her expression composed. 

“Come on, Ginny, you’ve got this,” someone calls out from the back of the room.

And she does, in fact, have it. She gets through the inning, and they’re now six outs away from Ginny completing the no-hitter. 

“Boss,” Eliot mutters in her ear, “I normally wouldn’t ask, especially when I’m on social media duty, but uh--”

“Go get a drink, Eliot,” Amelia says, cutting him off. “And get me another beer too.”

“Got it,” Eliot says, and goes to flag down a member of the staff. While he’s gone, Amelia pulls out her phone and checks Twitter, smiling when she sees that Buzzfeed already has an article up, titled _15 Hilarious Tweets About The Thing Ginny Baker’s Doing That We’re Not Allowed To Mention Yet._

“Yeah, that’s right, you better not jinx it,” Amelia says to herself, letting herself focus on the stupid gifs and memes, just for a second, just until the urge to look up and find Ginny in the dugout builds up once more. 

The local broadcast basically has a camera on Ginny at all times, and she’s sitting in the same place in the dugout she’s been occupying since the fourth inning. The only player near her is Mike, who’s sitting next to her, their knees almost brushing, the two of them staring off into the distance, not looking at each other or speaking but still somehow so obviously in sync, even down to the way they’re both snapping their gum.

Amelia stares at their faces on the screen, at Mike’s furrowed brow and the tense line of Ginny’s jaw, and feels something inside of her chest twist at the sight. 

“Amelia?” Oscar asks from behind her, and Amelia quickly turns to face him. Oscar’s got a quizzical look on his face, and he asks, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Amelia says, hating the breathless tone to her voice. “No, just uh, I thought there was a rule, nobody could sit near the pitcher when--when the _thing_ was happening.”

“There is, generally,” Oscar agrees. “But there’s an exception for the starting catcher though. Special relationship, all that.”

“Right,” Amelia says, placing a smile on her face. “Right, of course, that makes perfect sense.”

*

Months later, the only clear memory Amelia will have of the eighth inning is when one of the Reds batters decides to try and bunt, and it stands out for the incredibly vicious reaction from not only the crowd at Petco, but the crowd inside the executive box--literally everyone in the place starts booing and jeering, never mind that it ends up being a foul ball anyway. 

“Fucking cheap move,” Oscar snaps out, scowling--he’s stripped off his suit jacket at this point, shirtsleeves rolled up and his hair in disarray from how often he’s been scrubbing at it. 

“Down 4-0 in the eighth and he’s gonna bunt,” Evelyn says, staring daggers. “Asshole.”

Amelia mentally takes a note of the guy’s name and jersey number. She probably won’t feel like ruining the guy’s life tomorrow, but it’s best to be prepared just in case. 

Over on the TV, the announcers are excitedly talking about Mike saying something to the Reds player, and Amelia’s torn between the frankly primitive desire to watch Mike fuck with this guy’s head and the equally strong urge for everyone to just calm the fuck down so Ginny can get back to work already. 

But everyone settles back in, the umpire having a pointed word with both players, and the next pitch Ginny throws is a strike, the ball barely hitting Mike’s glove before Petco erupts in cheers.

“There we go,” Amelia says, her whisper not even audible to her own ears over the sound of everyone’s applause. “You’ve got this, you’ve got this.”

Nobody can hear her, Ginny least of all, but the mantra keeps repeating itself in Amelia’s head, as if she can will it into Ginny’s brain, as if it could make any difference to the way Ginny throws the ball. 

And yet, as Ginny embarks on yet another strikeout, for just that one moment, Amelia almost believes it could be true.

*

By the time they go to the top of the ninth inning, the Padres are up 5-0, and Amelia is officially a wreck. Both she and Eliot have given up any pretenses of getting work done, their phones set to silent and stashed away in their pockets, and as Ginny walks up to the mound, three outs away from making history yet again, Amelia is startled when she feels someone’s arm link through hers. 

Evelyn shrugs as Amelia stares at her, her arm cool and soft against Amelia’s skin. “For luck?” she offers. “Also, I don’t know about you, but it’s either hold on to someone or break my damn phone.”

“I hear that,” Amelia murmurs in agreement, squeezing Evelyn’s arm a little tighter. She looks over at Eliot, who’s chewing at his lip, and says, “Hey, get over here, we’re doing a human chain for luck or whatever.”

Eliot blinks at her, before his face breaks out into a relieved grin, and he steps over to loop his arm through Amelia’s other one. “Works for me,” he says. 

It’s both a comfort and not to have Eliot and Evelyn on either side of her like this. It’s totally unhelpful to feel how tense their bodies are, the way Evelyn’s holding herself so rigidly, how Eliot is practically vibrating with energy. 

It’s also a relief to not be alone--to have someone on either side of her, just as amped up as she is, to know that all of their collective focus, theirs and everyone else’s in this room, in this stadium, in this _city_ \--that everyone is out here, willing Ginny to just get three more outs. 

Ginny’s face is on every screen in the stadium right now, looking beautiful and distant and controlled, and it still gets Amelia that even after all this time of knowing this girl, it’s still impossible for her to read Ginny’s face when she looks like this, that cool mask settling over her gorgeous face. Over two years in, and all Amelia can do in these moments is to just look at her, stare in awe, and hope feverishly that this will all work out somehow.

“Come on, just give this to her,” Amelia mutters to herself, not even sure who she’s speaking to. The baseball gods? The universe at large? Whatever force runs the world, Amelia wants nothing more than to be able to bend it to her will, just for this one day, this one game. 

The first batter makes contact on Ginny’s second pitch, the ball flying into the outfield--and then Blip Sanders makes a sprawling catch to take the guy out, and Evelyn’s screaming louder than anyone else in the room, which is impressive given the general decibel level, and given how hard Amelia’s yelling in particular.

Two outs left. “I’m not gonna live through this,” Eliot says desperately as the next hitter comes to bat. “Heart attacks run in my family, and this is just too much for me--”

“You’re just going to have to hold it,” Amelia says to him, and Eliot whips his head around. 

“You want me to _hold off_ a heart attack?” he asks incredulously, but Ginny’s about to throw her next pitch, and Amelia practically digs her nails into his arm as she shushes him. 

Amelia can feel her heart pounding every time Ginny lets the ball fly, and by the time it gets to a 2-2 count, her teeth are grinding together. “For fuck’s sake, come _on_ ,” she implores. 

And then the batter connects on the next pitch and Amelia’s heart is leaping into her throat, but it’s all right, it’s okay because O’Brien’s got the ball and he’s throwing it over to first plate to take the guy out. 

The roar in the stadium is loud enough that Amelia could almost swear her bones are rattling. 

“Oh my God, oh my God,” she’s murmuring, blinking as the third batter walks over to the plate, bat in hand. “Oh my God, Ginny--”

The first pitch is a foul ball. Second is a strike. Everyone is crowded in front of the glass now, buzzing with excitement and barely repressed glee. Amelia’s vaguely aware of how tightly she’s holding Evelyn and Eliot’s arms, but she can’t relax her grip.

On the mound, Ginny adjusts the brim of her cap, pauses, and then goes into the wind-up--

The next two seconds are burned into Amelia’s brain--Ginny’s arm flying out, the ball curving through the air as the batter futilely swings at it, Mike’s glove curling around the ball as Ginny’s arms fly into the air in triumph, Petco Park erupting around them. 

The next few minutes--Mike running from home plate to pull Ginny into a bear hug, the rest of Ginny’s teammates storming the field to surround her, Beyonce’s Run The World blaring from the stadium speakers, Evelyn shrieking in Amelia’s ear as she and Eliot bounce up and down joyfully, bringing Amelia with them--all of it Amelia sees through a blur, her eyes stinging. 

“Oh my God,” she says, wiping at her eyes futilely. “Ginny, holy shit, holy fucking _shit_ \--”

“Ba-ker, Ba-ker, Ba-ker!” the crowd’s chanting now, and everyone’s getting into it in the box too, Eliot and Evelyn leading them, but Amelia can’t join in, can’t do anything but try to catch her breath, one hand clutched over her heart, beaming helplessly as Ginny is dragged into bear hug after bear hug on the field, her teammates slapping her on the back, shaking her shoulders, whooping in her ears. 

And all around the stadium, Ginny’s face is on every screen, that shell-shocked, electric smile the brightest and most beautiful thing Amelia has seen all day. 

*

Amelia really needs to turn her phone back on. 

She’s got calls to return, deals to make, appearances to book--she’s got a job to do, and that doesn’t go away even on days like today. Especially on days like today. 

And yet Amelia keeps pushing it off, letting Eliot screen her calls, telling him to have Covergirl and fucking _Nike_ call her back. Instead she’s walking to the locker room on still-shaky legs, beaming as she slips into the raucous locker room. 

It figures that the first person she sees is Ginny, standing in front of an ESPN camera crew at her locker, grinning as she answers their questions--but the first person whose eye Amelia catches is Mike, Mike who beams at her before he nods his head over in Ginny’s direction, the lift of his eyebrows telegraphing, _can you believe this girl?_

And all Amelia can do is laugh and shake her head because no, she really can’t.

Ginny looks over and sees Amelia there, and to Amelia’s surprise, she cuts the interview short with an apologetic grin and wave, and the second the cameraman steps back, Ginny’s quickly stepping forward and walking right into Amelia’s arms, and Amelia exhales and hugs her back as tightly as she can. 

Pressed together like this, Amelia can feel the way Ginny’s trembling ever so slightly from adrenaline, even as her arms feel like iron bands around Amelia’s waist. Amelia clutches at her a little tighter and says into her ear, “That...was the most gorgeous thing I have ever seen in my life. Ever.”

Ginny laughs and pulls back a little, but her arms are still loosely circling Amelia’s waist. “Even better than George Clooney’s vacation house?”

“Miles better,” Amelia promises, beaming at Ginny. “Ginny, that was--that was _art_. That was a fucking masterpiece.”

Ginny ducks her head, dimple peeking out in her cheek. “Yeah, it was pretty fucking awesome,” she admits, looking at Amelia through her eyelashes, still smiling.

Amelia feels oddly breathless all over again--well, not oddly, she _knows_ exactly why she’s feeling this way, she just can’t focus on it right now. “Yeah,” she agrees, pulling Ginny in for another hug, trying to ignore how warm Ginny feels, how easily she fits into Amelia’s arms. She ignores it because Ginny is her client and it’s not fucking relevant, it’ll never be relevant--

“You were perfect,” Amelia says quietly into Ginny’s ear. “Just perfect.” And then Amelia clears her throat, and lets Ginny go, taking a step back, her arms falling back to her side. 

Whatever moment there is, it’s broken when one of the other players, Stubbs, calls out, “Hey, Baker! Where do you wanna go out tonight?”

“As long as it serves booze I don’t care,” Ginny shoots back over her shoulder, and the room erupts in whoops and catcalls. Ginny turns back to Amelia, saying, “You’re coming out tonight with us, by the way.”

Amelia blinks. “Ginny, I’d love to but--”

“No buts,” Ginny says. She points at herself, saying, “In case you hadn’t noticed, I just pitched a no-hitter today, so what I say goes, and I say you’re coming out tonight.”

God, but it’s great seeing Ginny like this, so cocky and relaxed. Amelia can’t help but return her smile, even as she points out, “My phone’s been blowing up since the fifth inning, Ginny. If I’m not working my ass for you tonight, I’d be practically negligent as your agent.”

Ginny looks completely unimpressed by this argument. “Amelia. Come on. You think all those people calling you tonight won’t pick up your call tomorrow morning?”

That is not how this works, and Amelia opens her mouth to say as much--and Ginny asks in a quieter voice, “Amelia, please?”

Amelia stares at her, at this girl who is beautiful and brilliant, who went out and made history today, this girl who Amelia would run through a fucking _brick wall_ for--and she says, voice a little faint, “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

Ginny gives her a pleased, sunny smile. “Excellent.” She looks over at Mike, who’s watching the both of them, and adds casually, “You can hang out with Mike too.”

Amelia can’t help but be surprised at this--aside from Ginny declaring that she was “fine, absolutely fine,” with the idea of Mike and Amelia dating, she’s studiously avoided ever discussing the topic of their relationship since she found out. Until now.

“Uh, yeah,” Amelia says.

Ginny nods, and gives her another bright smile before she gets called away by some of her teammates, who are demanding to get a selfie. Amelia lets out a long breath and looks over at Mike, who’s still watching her, a thoughtful look on his face. 

There is no reason for Amelia’s face to go hot, no reason at _all_ \--but she’s still flushing anyway. 

*

It’s madness in the bar tonight, which is only to be expected. Amelia has to crane her neck to keep track of Ginny, who’s constantly being swallowed up by the crowd around her, until all Amelia can see is a quick glimpse of her curly head, track her location by the flashes of cameraphones going off. 

“Relax, she’s all right,” Mike says, settling in next to Amelia in their booth, a drink in each hand. 

Amelia lifts an eyebrow and says, “One of those had better be for me.”

“Do I look like a moron?” Mike asks. “Besides, you know I can’t stand that IPA shit.”

“More for me then,” Amelia says smugly, taking a long swig. But she can’t help herself, she turns to crane her head in the direction of the dance floor yet again, only somewhat reassured when she sees Ginny doing a dorky little shimmy next to Blip before finally cracking up at herself, head falling back as she laughs. 

It’s such a wonderful sight, seeing Ginny so relaxed, so carefree--that constant weight on her shoulders lifted at last, even if it’s only for one night.

And tonight--tonight Amelia can feel that clenching feeling in her chest when she looks at Ginny and admit, if only this one time, that what she feels for Ginny isn’t platonic and definitely isn’t maternal--it’s something else entirely, something that gets her heart beating a little faster, floods heat to her cheeks and makes her palms itch. 

Not that Amelia will do anything about it. Even if the boundaries have become more blurred with Ginny than with any of her previous clients. Even if she’s beautiful and amazing and--Amelia is not going there. Not ever. 

Besides, there’s Mike. Mike and his broad shoulders and charming smiles, the easy rapport they have, Mike who--who is also watching Ginny dance, with a look on his face that Amelia recognizes all too well. 

Amelia opens her mouth to say something, maybe to ask the question that’s starting to build in the back of her mind--but then she takes a breath, reconsiders, and turns back to look at Ginny once more. 

There’s a loose circle on the dance floor with Ginny in the middle, and she looks absolutely beautiful dancing there in the neon lights, her hips swaying to the beat, arms in the air and a wide smile on her face. 

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” Amelia asks softly.

“Yeah,” Mike agrees without hesitation, his voice sounding far-off. It takes a second before Amelia can feel him tensing up next to her as he realizes what he’s just said. “Wait, I mean--”

Amelia looks over at him. “Mike, it’s okay, I get it.” Mike still doesn’t lose the wary, alarmed look in his eyes, and Amelia leans in a little closer, emphasizing, “I _get it_.”

Mike narrows his eyes at her for a minute, and Amelia can see the exact moment that it clicks for him, that he puts everything together and comes to exactly the right conclusion. “Oh,” he says at last, his eyes going even wider in his face. “ _Oh._ ”

“Yeah,” Amelia sighs, slumping a little in her seat. “She’s just...God, just look at her.”

“And she can _pitch_ ,” Mike says with enthusiasm. “What?” he says, in response to Amelia’s raised eyebrow. “You know me, this can’t possibly be a surprise to you.”

“No, it isn’t,” Amelia admits, chuckling. She’ll never be one for PDA, and she’ll certainly never engage with so many Padres players and staff here tonight, but just this once, she lets herself lean in a little closer against Mike’s side and sigh, “That girl gave me seven heart attacks tonight.”

“You?” Mike scoffs, even as he settles in next to her. “Try living through it when you’re the catcher.” Despite his dire tone, there’s still a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, his gaze going distant, like he’s remembering the game all over again. 

Amelia looks at him and asks after a moment, “So tell me about it.”

Mike looks over at her. “Yeah?” At Amelia’s nod, he grins down at her before immediately launching into retelling a game that Amelia already witnessed every second of, except Mike’s commentary is peppered with far more obscenities than Dick Enberg’s. 

Right as Mike’s in the middle of a digression about “--asshole players who try to fucking bunt when _history_ is on the line”, Ginny shows up, grinning at them both. 

“Since when are you two wallflowers?” she asks, looking not at all thrown by the sight of Mike and Amelia lounging together in a quieter corner of the bar. 

“Not all of us are breakdancers, rookie,” Mike drawls, saluting her with his beer bottle. 

Ginny looks delighted at this. “Breakdancing, Lawson? God, you’re even older than I thought.” She looks over at Amelia and says, nodding her head in the direction of the dance floor, “Come on, Amelia, you’re dancing with me.”

“Wait, what?” Amelia asks, sitting up a little straighter in her seat. 

“Oh, yeah,” Ginny confirms, holding her hand out to help Amelia up from her seat. “Know why?”

Amelia looks up into Ginny’s grinning face, and says slowly, “Because you pitched a no-hitter today, and what you say goes.”

Ginny’s grin only gets wider. “Exactly,” she preens, smug. 

It’s a good look on her, but what isn’t? Overcome by a wave of affection, Amelia chuckles--at Ginny, at herself--and takes Ginny’s hand as she pulls herself up to her feet. Ginny’s hand is warm in hers, her skin rough with calluses, and Amelia shivers a little. 

“Hang on a second,” she says, and quickly downs the rest of her drink. Ginny’s eyebrows are up, and Amelia sets the empty can on the table. “I’ll be back,” she says to Mike, whose mouth is curving up into an amused smile. 

“Have fun,” he says, giving them a little wave as Ginny carries Amelia off to the dance floor. 

It’s Bruno Mars on the speakers as Ginny leads them out to the floor, Ginny’s hips starting to sway almost before they’re even there, and Amelia helplessly watches them move before she comes back to herself, letting her shoulders start to move to the beat, following Ginny’s lead. 

Ginny spins around to face her the second they’re on the dance floor, her face alight, and Amelia looks at her, her glowing skin, the light in her eyes--and in that second, Amelia wants nothing more than to pull her close, press a kiss to that soft brown cheek--

But she can’t, and she doesn’t. Instead Amelia smiles back, and follows Ginny’s lead, dancing with her under the lights, laughing helplessly with every shuffle and shimmy Ginny attempts, until they’re both cracking up, and Amelia gets a little reckless, grabbing Ginny’s hand and pulling her into a spin, Ginny laughing even as she misjudges the distance and tumbles into Amelia’s arms for one heart-stopping second, warm and solid and real, Amelia gripping her arms to hold her upright even as Ginny’s giggling against her neck. 

Smiling helplessly, Amelia glances over to the side of the dancefloor, and she blinks when she sees Mike standing there, beer bottle in hand, watching them dance. He’s not smiling anymore, the look on his face is--

A shiver goes through Amelia, and she can’t tell what’s caused it, the feeling of Ginny’s soft skin against her palms, or the way that Mike’s watching them now. 

“Come on,” she says, rubbing Ginny’s back. “Let’s go sit down for a minute.”

“Okay,” Ginny agrees easily, and Amelia’s not imagining the way Ginny glances over at Mike for one second before ducking her head. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

Amelia jumps a little when Ginny wraps an arm around her waist as they walk off, but that’s nothing, it’s probably just to keep her balance after all those drinks and all that dancing. 

Trying to ignore how good it feels to have Ginny pressed up next to her like this, Amelia leads them back to the booth, Mike right on their heels, as he asks, “You doing good there, Gin?”

“I’m _fantastic_ right now,” Ginny says with a grin, brushing her hair back from her face. A little to Amelia’s surprise, Ginny sticks close to them for the rest of the night--oh, she gets called away by her teammates for another round of drinks, for another song to dance to, but she always returns to the booth, sinking into her seat next to Mike, or to Amelia, pressing her leg against Amelia’s knee, leaning into Mike’s side to ask him another question. 

It’s all slowly driving Amelia insane, and the only thing keeping her tethered is that Mike’s as ramped up as she is, his hand gripping Amelia’s knee even as his gaze is fixed on Ginny’s face, the two of them riveted by every word she says, every casual movement of her hands, her body, her face. 

When Ginny’s called off by Blip and Evelyn to go and dance to Taylor Swift, Mike asks Amelia in an undertone, “Do we need to talk about this?”

He still hasn’t taken his eyes off Ginny. Fair enough, Amelia hasn’t either. “Probably,” Amelia concedes after a moment, biting at her lip. Ginny’s enthusiastically singing along to Shake It Off along with half the Padres roster, and it’s a measure of how far gone Amelia is that even this is working for her right now. “But it can wait. Tonight’s a good night, we can just leave it at that.”

“Yeah,” Mike agrees, looking at her for a long moment. “Yeah, you’re right about that.”

His hand squeezes Amelia’s knee, and Amelia lets herself lean in against him a little more. 

*

When the night finally comes to a close, Amelia couldn’t honestly tell you whether she arranges for Ginny to get in the same car with her and Mike or not. Maybe it just works out that way, or maybe Amelia sticks close enough to Ginny that going in the same car is the only logical choice. 

However it happens, the result is the same--Ginny clambering into the car, Mike and Amelia on either side of her. She’s strippped down to her plain blank tank top, her skin gleaming in the light, and Amelia holds her breath as she gets in, her bare arm brushing against Ginny’s for just a moment. 

Ginny sprawls in her seat as their driver pulls away from the curb, seemingly not caring that she’s right in the personal space of both Mike and Amelia. 

Hey, she got a no-hitter today. She’s earned the right to drive them a little nuts. 

“I did good today, didn’t I,” Ginny says to herself, in a tone of quiet surprise.

It’s not the first time Amelia’s gotten a glimpse into what lies behind Ginny’s endless drive and ambition, but she still stares at this. “Ginny, I may be new to this whole baseball thing, but I think a no-hitter is better than just _good_.”

“Yeah, no fucking shit,” Mike agrees, staring at Ginny with a furrow between his eyebrows.

Ginny shakes her head, still with that stunned look on her face. “No, I know that, it’s just--I really did it. I did something that they can’t ever erase. They can’t take this one away.”

“They can’t take any of it away,” Mike insists, sitting up in his seat. “Ginny, trust me-- _nothing_ you’ve done this year could get erased by anyone.”

Ginny gives him a half-smile, but she shrugs. “They’ll try, but--not for this. Not for a no-hitter.” Her smile is beautiful, and it makes her look heartbreakingly young for a second. “Not for the first no-hitter in Padres history.”

“Yeah,” Amelia agrees, tucking a loose strand of hair behind Ginny’s ear. “You did good.”

Ginny beams and settles back in her seat, legs somehow falling apart even more, so that her leg is pressed against Amelia’s, and now her hand is resting on Amelia’s knee, warm and solid through the thin material of Amelia’s pants.

Amelia freezes, then looks over at Ginny, Ginny who’s watching Amelia right now, her gaze heavy-lidded, her face calm, almost challenging, as if she’s just _waiting_ for--

Holy shit. This entire goddamn night, Ginny’s known exactly what she’s been doing to them. 

Rapidly reevaluating the entire evening, Amelia quickly looks over to Mike, who’s watching them both with a wild-eyed stare. 

Well. Okay, then. Never let it be known that Amelia Slater didn’t know how to take advantage of an opportunity when it presented itself. 

Her heart pounding in her ears, Amelia reaches out to cover Ginny’s hand with hers. “I was thinking,” she says, her voice dropping half an octave without even really meaning it to. “You should stay at Mike’s tonight.”

“Yeah?” Ginny asks, but from the slow smile spreading across her face, she’s not surprised at all by this suggestion. “I am kind of tired, it might be a good idea to crash.” She turns to look at Mike. “That okay?”

Mike is still staring at them both, looking like he’s forgotten how to breathe. “I--” Amelia raises both her eyebrows at him, and Mike comes back to himself, nodding firmly. “Yes. Yeah, that--that sounds good to me.”

“Yeah,” Ginny agrees, leaning back in her seat and closing her eyes. From the way Mike suddenly jumps, Amelia’s pretty sure Ginny’s touching his knee now in the same way she’s been touching Amelia’s. “I think it sounds good too.”

Amelia bites her lip, so badly tempted--but the divider between them and the driver is up, and Ginny is right there, and if they’re ever going to do this, now’s the time. 

So, her heart pounding, Amelia reaches out with her free hand, letting her thumb skim along Ginny’s full lower lip. Ginny opens her eyes at the touch, and, holding Amelia’s stunned gaze, carefully presses a kiss to the pad of Amelia’s thumb.

“Oh my God,” Amelia says faintly. 

“Baker,” Mike says, sounding almost winded, even as his own hand starts to move up Ginny’s thigh, “--you’re really not going to ease up with the heart-attacks today, huh?”

Ginny blinks, then breaks into a laugh. “You know,” she says, turning to grin at him, “I really don’t think I am.”

“Hey,” Amelia says, and when Ginny turns back to her, she swoops in for a kiss, Ginny’s mouth soft against hers, the kiss brief but so sweet. When she pulls away, it’s hard to tell who’s smiling harder, her or or Ginny. 

“You know what?” Amelia says, “I think we can work with that.”


End file.
